Sanguine Falls
by Ms Western Ink
Summary: She was scared. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with her. Where was Aoshi? AxM SemiAU. Rating may rise.
1. I

Sanguine Falls

1 of ?

* * *

AN: Thanks to** Silver Miko, Tokugawa, & Kettering** who provided assistance and/or support through the writing of this crazy adventure. 

Special thanks to **Hikaru **who generously provided the book which inspired this wandering insanity and probably more twisted tales in the future.

* * *

He was dead. 

Aoshi-sama hadn't survived the final battle with Shisho. He died and her beautiful colored world bled black & red and when the flood receded there was only gray. Sanosuke and Himura had stumbled back to the Aoiya, broken down, and bleeding but alive.

Aoshi hadn't come home at all. All her fears and pains had been pushed aside in the urgency that surrounded treating the wounded that day. When he had finally recovered enough to speak again, almost_ two days _later, Himura gave her the news personally. She recalled it with sickening clarity.

_"I'm so sorry, Misao-dono, Aoshi-san didn't make it." _

Everything, _everything_ stopped... her world froze in place while her head continued to swim. Her head swirled and her balance was thrown off kilter. She recalled vividly the sensation of her head striking the floor but it hadn't hurt. She firmly believed nothing could hurt more than the knowledge that Aoshi-sama was dead.

Even now it hurt but it had dulled to a depressing degree. The others had been urging her to "move on" and that it would "get better with time." She was finding that to be overwhelmingly and startling true. She shocked herself by trying to hold onto her grief and guilt because to do otherwise seemed to abandon or invalidate or cheapen her love for Aoshi-sama.

How long had it been now?

"Misao, why don't you head up to bed soon?"

She rolled her eyes. Behind her she could imagine Okina with his head popped in the door, concern shimmering in his old eyes... he was so predictable that it was annoying.

"Okay," she agreed, pulling herself up onto her feet.

Her kimono caught under her toe and she tipped, her arms flailing. With a dull thud, she fell and winced at the hard contact between her and the floor. The tatami mats beneath her did little to cushion her fall. She crawled back up, rubbing her tailbone absently and headed toward the stairs.

She knew she needed to pay more attention but it was so hard to do. She'd declined, she knew that. Aoshi-sama would be ashamed of her. He'd scold her but... she wasn't sure what to do anymore.

Why did it matter what she wore when she got up? She had no one to show it to. Did it matter that she kept her hair long? Aoshi-sama couldn't see it. Why did it matter if she bathed? He could no longer smell her, or touch her, or kiss her, or indulge in any of her fantasies. He was gone. She had lost him. There was nothing she could've done.

* * *

Night fell and found Misao in the common room by the back garden. No candles burned to illuminate the silent room, no light save for that sparse shining of the moon which was bright and fair outside. She had laid her head upon the table hours ago. The others had obviously decided not to disturb her rest, however fitful, and left her to sleep there. She blinked her heavy, sleep achy eyes and stood up. 

She'd become thin in her depression. Bone thin and pale. Her skin seemed to cling to her bones and she was no longer allowed in the Aoiya dining room in view of the customers as she was far too sickly in appearance.

Most of the room was filmed over in darkness with only a slim strip of light upon the sill of the window.

Her bony feet were unsteady and she tilted but didn't fall. She stumbled slightly as she moved toward the window. Her yukata, once beginning to feel a bit snug now hung limply off her frame. Even its drapery couldn't hide her thin limbs and torso. Once she had been teased about resembling an adolescent boy... now... now she was positively childlike. Before she'd been banned from the dining room a woman had come up to inquire about "the sickly child".

She reached out, curling her skeletal fingers against the wood of the windowsill to steady her uneven gait. Blank eyes, sunken from malnutrition stared out into the empty garden. While no people lingered, the garden flourished. Summer rain and sunshine had brought life and merriness to the plots of vegetation. Misao looked there and saw nothing but memories of old. She saw life stripped from her, she saw her love taken away, she saw happiness when she wanted sadness... the still even tones of silence.

There was nothing silent about a bright spray of daisies or the stalks of orchids... nothing at all

A fog had drifted down and overhead the clouds were drifting by the moon. She turned away from the sight beyond the window. Maybe she should go to her room and sleep?

No... no..

She wasn't tired. Maybe a walk would soothe her mind and grant her some peace? So far that strategy had failed her but oftentimes she found it a cool balm upon her frazzled nerves. She fumbled toward the front door and stepped out into the night.

She limped along the row of buildings the Aoiya stood in. She could not remember if she'd closed the front door... she didn't want to go back and look. She'd come back this way soon, she thought

Each building was darkened, the doors closed... she turned away from the dusty streets that led into town and instead turned the opposite direction. A nameless street to nowhere... at night they all were. They were all the same

The cemetery was somewhere along the road she currently stumbled along, that she knew. Her parents and Aoshi-sama were both buried there. They had tiny stone markers and each year she came to dust them off and lay flowers there. This year she hadn't come... she'd been too sick with grief, locked away in her room ill with misery and death

Now she fumbled along a loose dirt road where in the daylight horse drawn carriages kicked up dust as they clattered by. She could almost hear them now.

How much further? How much longer? The graveyard came into view and she stopped walking. The night air was thick with fog. It coated the area in whitish puffs. She came to stand at the edge of the graveyard fence. It was low, just over her hips and up to her abdomen. She didn't look for the gateway, she knew it was closed, she gripped the railing and lifted and shimmied herself across and promptly fell straight over.

She impacted the ground hard, her knobby knees striking a stone grave marker through the thin material of her yukata. Dizzily, she stood and fumbled. Aoshi-sama was in this cemetery somewhere... where... where... did she remember?

As she glanced about the ground, a gentle breeze seemed to float by. Her eyes were drawn to a strange almost iridescent butterfly. It fluttered by her, its wings dancing almost serenely... but it was large and the wings were delicate and lacy.

The gentle flapping of its wings was hypnotic. She stared, her feet moving to follow it unknowingly. She could imagine, she could see the tiny sparkles falling from its wings like tiny drops of moonlight. She reached out but it was far beyond her fingertips dancing to the strange, but yet silent beat of drums. The sound pounded in her ears.

**Lub**-_dub_

**Lub**-_dub _

The butterfly sparkled and danced to the macabre sound. It was so vibrant she could hear it in her ears... pulsing even through her own body. She stumbled along after the creature, tossing herself over the fence gracefully as she again came upon it.

She walked quickly but the butterfly was getting away from her. How had it gotten so far ahead? It was now far beyond her, she could barely see the faint sparkles from its wings down the road almost about to go over a hill and out of view

The butterfly swooped over the edge of the hill downward and was gone. Misao came to the edge and stood, glancing down over the little hill. It was a small hill, so small, but the butterfly was gone.

She glanced around

Road... grass..

Far, far ahead at a crossroads she thought she saw a person. She strained, squinting her eyes in the darkness... was it a person?

Butterfly forgotten, Misao walked forward. Her footsteps were silent upon the road and her clothes barely rustled at all.

A person?

She stopped when she saw not one person at the crossroads, but many. Many persons..

It was an entire group of people and they were all cast in the same gray skin tone. They were milling about or stopped quite oddly. Several were paused in the center of the road looking perplexed while the others shuffled by without paying any mind at all. Misao watched the odd scene, transfixed by the small, peculiar movements of the people. It was so normal and yet so abnormal... what was holding her in place to watch these people cross?

Better yet, what were all these people doing out here? How could she see them so well in the darkness and why were they so … gray.

She knew not, but she felt no desire to go back. So absorbed was she that she didn't notice immediately when one such presence came to stand at her back until one cold, spindly hand came to down upon her shoulder.

She turned slowly, still transfixed, far too much to be startled and turned her luminous eyes upon her interloper. She registered the presence but felt strangely compelled to ignore it and instead continue to watch the people cross. She turned and looked back behind her. Words tumbled forth before she saw anything... an instinctual response, something ingrained, something learned, something supernatural.

"Aoshi-sama."

She blinked and seemed to come awake. The sound of his name from her own lips seemed to rouse her from her stupor. She blinked again trying to clear her cloudy eyes and turned back but the strange persons at the crossroads were gone. All of them vanished.

Frantic that she was sleepwalking and had imagined Aoshi-sama, she turned around again, but there he stood.

He was the same ghostly gray color, no... no... not gray at all she thought. She looked up and stared at his pale visage.

He was white.

A pure, ghostly white, almost to the point of transparent. Where blue veins would have run beneath there seemed to be only whiter beneath. He was the exact color of snow or milk and looked just as cold. His mouth was reddish, no, pale colored but it was bright against the wintry pallor of his skin.

"Aoshi-sama!" she exclaimed, her mouth dropping open in both horror and astonishment.

He looked like a stage actor! Like... like...

"You are standing at a crossroads," he spoke.

His tone was impartial and the hand that had been upon her shoulder had fallen again by his side limply. She turned her eyes toward the appendage. He was so slender... so slim... so... _sickly_ looking. She stepped back again. Was this another horrible nightmare?

He stared at her as though he'd never seen her before. Was this man _not_ Aoshi-sama? Could that be? Aoshi-sama was dead, she reminded herself. He'd been that way a while now. It couldn't be him, couldn't be.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew a crossroads when she saw one!

"You have seen the crossing of the dead and now you will die."

She stared and backed yet another step away but he never moved, never blinked, never twitched. Nothing at all.

W-what! The crossing of the dead? Surely not those gray people?

"Give your life to me and I will spare you the curse of madness."

"N-no!" she exclaimed, startled. "What are you? Did you escape from somewhere?"

His eyes flickered and they glowed.

Glowed.

A dull kind of glow, it was a silver kind of color that resembled fog. It seemed to radiate from his eyes like steam over a hot cup of tea effusing slowly outward but never getting larger. The glow spread off and vanished around his face. She swallowed hard.

Was she imagining that?

"You will go mad. You will kill yourself and others.."

She shook her head. "I will... I would not!"

"You can, you will, because you are cursed."

She was overwhelmed. How dare this person who looked like her Aoshi-sama come upon her like this? How dare he? How …

How dare Aoshi-sama die on her! How dare he leave her before she could… before she could… Tears pricked her eyes. It wasn't fair!

Without warning or explanation she flew at him in a rage. Punches and kicks rained and fell upon nothing. Her target had vanished.

"Go then girl... When you are ready, I will be waiting."

She drew her arms around her frame panting from the exhaustive effort. One burst of activity and she was already so tired… so weak. She glanced around searching for him but saw no one.

Terrified, she ran home.

* * *

AN: Just wait, hopefully it gets better. If you're confused, that's okay. All will be revealed... or something close to it. 

Chapter lengths will vary depending on scene breaks. I think there's a least one that's rather short and that's because of what follows it and my current progress. I'm usually a stickler for even chapter lengths but this story will break that.


	2. II

Part II

* * *

"Misao?" 

The girl blinked, her vision fuzzy. She blinked again and it cleared slightly.

"Misao? Wake up..."

She continued to blink, bringing her hands up to rub at her eyes.

"I'm awake," she mumbled weakly pulling herself up from the ground. Dust covered her hands and it was caked beneath her fingernails.

Dirt?

"You fell asleep on the road in front of the Aoiya. What are you doing out here?"

Huh? She glanced around, puzzled. Had she dreamed the whole crazy fiasco from the night before up? Was it a by-product of her tormented imagination? She found she couldn't dismiss that. She wasn't behaving as per normal, that much she knew for certain.

"I don't know. I think I took a walk."

Omasu clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Misao, you have to stop this! Aoshi is dead, I know it hurts but you have to let it go and starting living again. Don't you realize it hurts us to see you this way?"

Misao nodded absently. "I know. I'm sorry."

She pressed her hands down onto the ground and pushed herself up. Her bony appendages trembled with her weight and she swayed on her feet. She stared at her hands in amazement for a moment before remembering that Omasu was next to her.

"I'll be better. I'm going inside now."

Omasu frowned, a look of intense concentrating marring her gentle beauty. "Okay, but at least come down for breakfast, okay? I've prepared something special for you."

Special... how familiar that sounded. Omasu and the others had been trying to lure her into eating by making her special or her favorite dishes. It hadn't worked. Misao turned, agreeing weakly and entered the building. The dining room was empty thus far, she continued on without notice. She didn't turn back to see Omasu watching her go.

When she reached her room she went for the hand mirror she'd received as a gift from Kaoru some time back. With it she held it away from her and glanced over her figure.

Thin... thin... so thin.

She was ugly.

Startled at the errant thought she dropped the mirror. It landed with a dull clatter but didn't break. The reflective glass remained intact while the delicate ceramic flowers about the edge cracked and chipped away. Colored fragments littered the floor. The glass pane gleamed up at her menacingly.

Ugly.

Ugly, it seemed to whisper.

Her breath hitched and she kicked it away. It skidded across the floor with no more damage. She glanced around.

How had she gotten so thin? Surely, she wasn't this bad off? What would her Aoshi-sama think of her? She had to think of him! He wouldn't... he... no...

Her throat felt tighten and her heart was beating fast. It was fast, wasn't it? She brought her hand to her chest and pressed down to feel for it.

So thin... she could feel the bone down the center of her chest as she pressed. Disgusted, she moved her hand but then she felt the ridges of her ribcage. Alarmed, she ripped her hand away entirely.

Ugly.

She was thin and ugly.

He'd never love her this way! She was... she was... she was sickly! She couldn't even be a good ninja anymore. One good kick and her bones would crack in half. She'd never have the soft, generous curves of other women... No...

Even before, slight as she had been, she had had some curves. She pulled at her ties of her yukata and hastily stripped it off. It fell from her body like a limp rag and every bit as dusty. She stared down at her body and recoiled. Her hip bones jutted out at sharp angles and her breasts had shrunk.

Already small now they were even smaller, barely tiny mounds tipped by the faint curve of her nipple. She swallowed hard and swooped down grabbing her yukata. Horribly, horribly ugly... unspeakably so.

She hid her emaciated form beneath her dirty yukata once more and numbly walked to the window and peered out.

Aoshi-sama would never love her. No man ever could, not like this... did she even want another man? Did she want anyone to want her? Should she eat? How much longer until this killed her?

Her body was... it was eating itself away right before her very eyes. From the vicinity of the doorway there came a faint tapping and she spun around to see the door slide open just slightly. Omasu peeked at her from the other side.

"Misao?"

"Hmmm? What?"

At the response, Omasu invited herself in and glanced over Misao's form.

"You didn't change?"

Misao shook her head numbly. "I don't want to look at myself. I couldn't."

Omasu blinked. "How about I help you?"

Misao shrugged and Omasu sighed as though this were their everyday routine. Maybe it was, Misao found she didn't really remember waking up in the morning. In fact, she remembered very little at all.

Misao watched Omasu head toward her bureau and then turned back to face the window. Below in the garden, butterflies danced.

* * *

Eating. Misao didn't remember eating. She had lunch, she knew that, but she couldn't remember what. Rice perhaps, no, maybe she'd sipped some soup. Maybe she had both... She couldn't recall... did it matter? 

Presently, she sat alone. The others had come and gone. She was left alone in the back room by the back garden with solemn warnings not to enter the Aoiya dining room out front. She heard, she knew, she understood. No one would want to look at her. She'd stared at the table shamefully and Omasu and Okon had quietly retreated leaving her there.

She was like the revolting child the family tried to hide. She stood slowly and looked out the back window. The weather was turning to fall quickly. The trees along the back were already shedding their leaves but flowers still bloomed in the garden.

What was she to do?

Ah! Omasu! Of course!

Upstairs in Omasu's room there was a mirror! With hurried, steady feet Misao fled toward the stairs. No one stirred, no one appeared. She flew up the stairs and headed down the hall. At the doorway she pressed her ear against the pane. Was Omasu inside?

She listened.

Nothing.

At the silence she pushed open the door slowly and peeked within.

Empty.

She quickly stepped in and pulled the door closed. In the far corner Misao's treasure stood. Omasu owned a large paned mirror it had been a gift a few years back but from whom she could no longer recall. Misao crept toward it, tiptoeing softly. In the mirror she could see the painted door of the closet reflected back.

She neared placing herself in front of the glass and stared at herself. Glassy eyes stared back her. haunted, haunted eyes… the eyes of a stranger. She didn't even know herself anymore. How had she done this to herself?

She… no… she reached out and pressed one thin palm to the mirror. So cold. So empty… so ugly. Why? Why was she this way? Why was she this unattractive? Why?

She drew her fist back and slammed her knuckles against the surface. It made a sickening thud, a splintering sound echoed in her ears. It felt like her skull had cracked open from her temples to the crown of her head and then down the back. She felt like a broken egg shell leaking the precious insides.

She dropped her gaze to her hand. It throbbed painfully. She could see the flesh was torn and blood dripped freely over her fingers, down her palm. It streaked over the closed veins in her wrist and dripped onto the floor.

The wood was shiny and light and her blood was bright and oval shaped. She stared at the drips. They were small… small drips, drops, droplets. Rounded and the edges rippled almost, some were smooth. She shivered and her knees weakened. She stepped back and collapsed onto the floor, her knobby bones striking the hard surface and flaring sharply with pain.

Her head ached, it hurt. Her hand pulsated with pain. Everything ached. Her vision darkened. She wanted it to stop. Why couldn't she have some peace? Why wouldn't anything, **everything **leave her alone?

She thought she saw a flutter of light and color enveloped in black lace. She dropped her head back and screamed.

* * *

AN: This author pleads patience for her short chapters. I think it'll be a pretty short story actually. I hadn't thought of this until now but this is very likely inspired by Hikaru's "Closing Doors" in some way, that's one of my favorite fics.   



	3. III

Sanguine Falls

Part III

* * *

"We can't just leave her like this, Okina! She's getting worse! Did you see what she did to my mirror?"

Misao blinked. She could tell from the feel of the blankets that she was back in her own room. The raised voices were far down the hall but the house was quiet… she could hear everything.

"What do you want me to do?" Okina asked. His voice was low and weary. He sounded tired, a man out of hope and options. "Do you want me to send her away?"

Send her away? Misao kicked off her blankets and hobbled up onto her feet. No! They couldn't send her away!

She stumbled toward her window and yanked it open. A soft breeze blew it, throwing back her curtains. They fluttered around her little frame, brushing against her legs.

She would have to run away! She couldn't let them… she'd heard of the places… they had a new hospital down town. She'd heard scary, scary things about it… research…. Maybe it was silly rumor, maybe it was fact… She was far too frightened to find out. She threw one leg over the sill and tried to balance herself there. Spindly fingers gripped the sill and she paused, listening.

"No, I don't want to send her away… I just… hurt. I just hurt for her… I want to help and she just pushes me away."

Misao hung her head, letting her eyes fall closed. How could she explain what they could already see? Did she have to? Did she need to say anything?

She felt a soft flutter against her cheek. A gentle, tickling against her nose… She opened her eyes and brought her had up seeing something large, black, and winged perched upon her nose. She swatted it away roughly, instinctively pushing herself backward against the wood and almost toppling herself out onto the roof.

It fluttered its wings and righted itself with no apparent damage and came back around, perching on the sill by her fingers. The wings glided up and then down slow, gentle movements. They were almost hypnotic had she been staring at the lacy designs. The wings seemed to be thick with powder, pollen, something… she reached out a finger.

When she was younger she'd taken butterflies, trapped them between sheets of paper and killed them by slamming them between the pages of heavy books. She'd often leave them there, pressing and dried for months before she came across them again by accident.

The butterfly flitted away from her hand. She sighed. Not even a butterfly would come to her. She was that repulsive?

She held out her hand, but it would not touch her skin. It fluttered about in odd circles beyond her reach. Misao tried to lure the butterfly closer with her voice, but it evaded her. After several moments it landed again upon the sill and she looked closer to see it was gently tapping it's mouth pieces against the wet wood. Several spots of water from the recent rain remained. She sighed heavily, annoyed.

She clumsily climbed back over the window and stomped toward the door. She threw it open and stormed into the hall stopping Okina and Omasu's conversation abruptly as they took notice of her.

"Misao-"

Okina and Omasu stared in astonishment, their shock dissolving into strange smiles.

"I'll pay for your stupid mirror, Omasu," the younger girl growled before moving toward the stairs and all but tossing herself down them in her desire to get out. She was stifling. The air in the building was cooking her insides. She was hot and raw like something, well, overcooked.

She didn't want to know, didn't care what they were thinking. Today, breakfast smelled good.

She hummed softly as she stepped outside. The sky was clear and the sun was bright, too bright perhaps. She would have to get a job to pay for Omasu's mirror. Omasu… ugh.

She decided her best options for work were down by the shipyard at the water. There was always work to be found there. She had learned much of the shipyard and the businesses along the waterfront in her earlier years, eavesdropping on Okina and reading through old correspondence.

She attempted to pay no mind to the glances of other passersby but the more that look they looked, the more she became uncomfortable. What were they looking at? What did they see when they saw her? Was she even more horrible in daylight?

Was her thin skin transparent and weak? Did she look like the dead walking? What did she look like? Did Omasu's mirror show her what the world saw or was it something else? Did it vary from person to person, what they saw in her?

She wondered.

She worried.

She drew her arms across her chest tighter and continued on.

"Yo!"

A large, meaty hand descended hard upon one tiny shoulder and then quickly another. The two hands, male hands, she realized, spun her around almost causing her to tip. Her body, light and weak from lack of nourishment seemed like a tree branch just waiting for the right storm to break it.

"You just knocked over my fruit, girl!"

Fruit? She stared past him toward a display that now littered the ground. Colorful, round fruits… oranges? She hadn't knocked over a pile of oranges! Or… had she? Was she so distracted? Her faraway gaze seemed to annoy him and his grip tightened.

"Child! You will pay for those oranges! They are soiled!"

"I didn't knock over your lousy oranges!" she snapped. "And I'm not paying for them you chunky twit!"

That felt good. A return to the old her!

Her memory of Aoshi-sama shimmered and faded and she blanched, her skin cooling. No! She couldn't forget!

She twisted out of his grip with a dexterity that defied her frame only to find herself slammed back into a cart of straw. She hit her head on the wooden plank near the head of the cart and her world shimmered again briefly, her vision blurring. She shook as if to clear it away but the rapid motion made her dizzy. Sound dulled… was the man yelling still?

She kept very still, the slightest of movements making her feel like she was twirling. Her stomach tried to clench and heave and she turned her head to the side praying she wouldn't vomit. There was a gentle flutter against her nose and she clenched her eyes shut.

If she couldn't see it, it wasn't there.

The cart beneath her jerked forward. She heard the whine of a horse and then movement forward, slow. The cart was moving!

She jerked opened her eyes. The dizziness passed her stomach calmed as fear took over. She sat up. There was no irate merchant standing over her, there were no oranges. She looked toward the front see a man hunched over holding a set of reigns.

They clattered along merrily, oblivious to her. Or… had he captured her? She sat up and hopped down onto the ground. The cart carried on. Where was she?

She couldn't have gone more than a few feet and yet… the street was completely unfamiliar to her. Was lack of food and sleep making her crazy?

"_I will spare you the curse of madness."_ The words drifted from the recesses of her memory and she shuddered. No… silly dreams did not … it wasn't…. she turned and began walking. She wouldn't think of it and it would go away.

She walked down one empty street and then another stopping on a corner. She swooped down to pick up a crumpled newspaper at her feet. The headline blared at her, the silent black print condemning.

"_Fire at famous Aoiya Restaurant." _

What? Her heart, slowing from its previous fright began to pound again. Fire at the Aoiya? Newspaper, why was it in the newspaper? She was just there… just… an hour, more, less, what? When was it?

She turned and started to walk only to remember she couldn't recall where she was. She glanced at the window fronts looking for some familiar landmark, something to spark her memory, but nothing happened. The windows were dull, the doors closed, no one was really milling about. A old man slumped and limping, a young woman sweeping the front steps… where was everyone else? Why was no one about?

She turned and started to run. Run to where… she whipped around a corner and skidded to an uneven stop, balancing her weight against the wall.

"… _the fire spread quickly through the building, skipping over to several other buildings close buy. Several are dead including the owner & staff of the restaurant." _

Her fingers weakened and the paper fell. Away… she could never run far enough away. A breeze caught the paper, separating the pages and the black printed page landed face up, the title bold and dark. "_Storm__Strikes Port_."

She could hear the ocean now. She ran toward it, a smile curving her lips as the scent of the ocean filled her nostrils. She was so close… the grass gave way to sand and the horizon opened up, a beach stretching far left and right. A great span of water was laid out before her, the ocean crashed against the sand. The sound called to her. She walked toward it numbly, her feet sinking into the sand unbalancing her. She was so prone to tipping…

The water rushed over her toes and then her ankles… she fell. Before the blackness settled over her she heard the ocean roar and rushed toward her.

* * *

AN: The mystery continues! Oooooh... aaaahhhh. Yeah, see you next time. 


	4. IV

**Sanguine Falls **

**Part IV**

* * *

"Misao…"

"Mmmm…" the girl replied sleepily.

"Misao?" the gentle voice chimed again. "Wake up, come on…"

Heavy eyes fluttered and flickered open, blinking once and then again. The fuzzy image of the ceiling slowly cleared and the girl turned her head.

Ceiling?

Bed?

What happened to the ocean?

Startled, she sat up quickly only to have her shoulders grasped by her bedside attendant.

"Calm down…" the sweet, soothing voice spoke again and Misao looked up to see Omasu hovering at her bedside. "You okay? You've been thrashing all night, the doctor said not to wake you."

Doctor?

"Yes, the doctor," Omasu replied gently.

Oh, she'd said that aloud… hadn't she? Omasu had answered so she must have. Misao laid back down staring up for a moment before glancing toward the woman she'd known all her life.

"Am I sick?" It was a soft question, one full of fear and uncertainty.

"Yes," Omasu replied gently. "You're very sick. They don't want you to leave your bed for a few days."

Misao sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about your mirror; I didn't mean to break it."

"My mirror isn't broken, its fine." Omasu folded her hands in her lap demurely over her lilac kimono. Misao stared at her, transfixed.

"No… No, I… I accidentally broke it yesterday."

Omasu shook her head gently. "You were in bed all day yesterday, too. You must have dreamed it."

"I couldn't," Misao whispered, glancing toward the window. A black laced butterfly was probing its antennae against the frame of the sill. "The butterfly is back…" she murmured softly.

Omasu turned and glanced toward the window and Misao looked at Omasu. She watched, surprised, as the older woman's eyes filled with tears, her hands clenching in her lap. She stood.

"Misao, there's no butterfly in the window."

Omasu left her quickly, trying to hide her crying.

No? Misao glanced up and there it was, tinkering along the window ledge, feeling, feeling along… tapping its little feet against the wood. Didn't Omasu see the butterfly? Why was she seeing things different than everyone else?

What was wrong with her? She brought her hands up to her face. Her fingers were still thin, her body still bony… no, she hadn't imagined that part.

What… what was wrong with her!

* * *

A little walk… a little walk never hurt anyone. It soothed the mind, it cooled the senses, and it eased the coiling vines about her heart.

For her…

For her it instigated nightmares. It made her sweat. It made goose bumps rise along her arms. It made her glance around wildly, searching for enemies in the dark.

That night, beneath the stars, she walked again. Words from her last stroll twirled around in her head, twisting about, morphing, buzzing, wheezing… it was an odd assortment of sounds. Icky, it was an icky array, something squelchy and disturbing, something wrong, something mucky.

She heard his voice in her head, that beautiful man that she loved. The man that had gone and left her… left her behind with the living whist he traveled with the dead. She needed to get away, to get out of the open air. Was the night air always so toxic to her thoughts? Was she merely a crazy girl?

She spotted a shack ahead and her feet took her quickly toward it. She ran. She pulled open the door and threw herself inside and took a deep breath. The air chilled her lungs.

The first thing she noticed was the least important.

The floor was cold.

It was gray and stony, rough textured. She could feel the raised sections of the stones against the soles of her sandals. Her feet were cold too, her toes oddly numb. They tingled when she flexed them.

She glanced around.

Dark walls, stone, an abnormal light toward the far wall... She stepped forward tentatively and almost leapt backwards in fright as her bare legs touched a thin, sticky line of web. The clingy strands clung to her legs, tickling and she swooped down to slap her hands against her shins. The sound was sharp and the contact stung sharply. She mashed her palms against her shin bones and scratched her skin pressing her fingers against the bone hard.

Suddenly her arm and legs and back felt itchy as paranoia crept over her like a ray of light casting itself down upon her. She felt a whisper of movement against her clothed ankle, a gentle wisp, and her mind leapt to conclusions.

SPIDERS!

She twitched and jumped. How many? Were they on her legs? Were they the thin legged spiders or the short, fat, and fuzzy ones? Would they bite?

She couldn't see anything on her but the irritable tickling continued to annoy her. She flailed wildly for a moment, jumping, trying to shake any spiders off. Her heart thundered, pounding in her ears. Her sound was distorted, a dull buzzing in her ears, an (odd) rushing sound that made her think of the roar of ocean waves coming in to crash against a sandy shore. She felt dizzy, slightly off kilter. The room was too dark, she began to panic. She ran toward the door.

Sanctum!

Freedom!

LIGHT!

No… no light, only darkness. Darkness everywhere.

She ran, cursing having ever sought solace in such a foul place. The smell was bad, it was dark and there were creepy crawling things inside. There was no sanctuary to be found anywhere. Nothing could protect her from her own thoughts.

Outside, again in the moonlight she patted down her clothes, searching for the awful little creatures but found nothing. Her inspection yielded nothing. She took a moment to catch her breath and calm her heart.

What was she to do?

Omasu's mirror: not broken. The merchant from the other day... the oranges... had they, too, not fallen over or was that also imagined? She began to walk, dragging her feet against the loose soiled road. The dust drifted up and irritated her nose, but she didn't feel a sneeze.

What had she imagined and what was real? The newspaper clipping... she sighed and patted her pockets, coming to a stop as she felt something crinkle against the fabric.

Hadn't she dropped this paper before? Surprised, she reached in and fished it out. Black and white stared back at her.

"_Fire at famous Aoiya Restaurant."_

But...

But... there was no fire at the Aoiya, she was just there! Dropping the paper to the ground, she began to run. She brought her hands up to her head and held them there, cradling her palms against her temples as though to preserve her precious sanity.

NO!

Why?

Why?

Why was everything not the way it was supposed to be? What was happening to her? Was he right? Was that strange man from the night real? Was that a dream? Where did the dream stop?

Stop?

STOP!

She skidded to a stop in front of the Aoiya, sniffing, eyes frantically searching. Intact... it was whole. The Aoiya was safe.

Safe.

It was safe.

She dashed around to the side and slipped past the fence and into the back garden. Around the pond she ran toward the large old tree that grew there.

Up, up, up she went. There, high up, was a nice wide space where the tree branched off creating a perfect nesting site. She'd sat in the space many times in her youth hiding from the others. Laying her head back against the bark she breathed in the fresh air and listened to the leaves rustle.

Peace... she needed a little peace. Why couldn't she have any? Where was Aoshi-sama to save her? Would she be peaceful if she died? Would she be reunited with Aoshi-sama then?

She took a glance down and the distance made her dizzy once more. No... no jumping from the tree. It wasn't high enough to kill her.

With that depressing thought she closed her eyes again. She relaxed there. She didn't expect to fall asleep, didn't welcome it and didn't fight it. It crept up upon her like a stranger with a deep, dark cape. It settled over her lightly, sweeping her away.

* * *

AN: At some point these chapters are standardized to a longer length about +600 more words than this. 


	5. V

**Sanguine Falls**

**Part V**

* * *

She woke suddenly. It wasn't a sound or a motion, not even the stirring of the tree in the breeze… it was a sudden wakefulness. 

The wind had picked up and the canopy of branches around her swayed just slightly but she didn't move cradled near the thick center trunk of the tree. Below her shadows were still cast heavily over the yard.

She was tired.

Her body ached with fatigue. Her eyes were heavy, her neck was stiff, her skin was sore from being pressed to the bark but she dared not move. There was no energy for it. She turned her head and gazed down below her, glancing about the shadows trying to identify the different yet familiar landmarks in the yard… her eyes fluttered and she shut them momentarily.

So tired…

It was as though her world were bleeding, curling around its precious edges, turning to fine silver ash. Below her she heard a snap, like a twig and her eye shot open. Was someone down there? Or was it an animal?

She tensed and straightened trying to search out the cause of the sound. The wind didn't break twigs on the ground. There were several things that looked a bit odd but nothing that was moving and nothing that looked person-shaped. She pulled her legs up toward her chest and turned them, shifting her body. She might as well take a peek around and then head in; she certainly wasn't feeling like sitting about the yard anymore.

Pushing herself out of the tree carefully with her arms she landed gracefully at the base of the tree on the ground. She glanced about again. The same things on a different field of perspective, nothing human at least.

But humans weren't static, they moved. They would hide… if she wanted to find someone in the yard she couldn't go about stomping around like an elephant, she would have to be sneaky. She crept, very quietly around the base of the tree… nothing.

There was simply no one about.

She was just about to withdraw from her silly search and head in when she felt a … _shift_ in the air. That was the easiest way to describe something that was simply indescribable.

She turned; something was moving around her… something she couldn't quite see. Something moving fast… she thought it was a shadow, a person's shadow… no…

Many shadows moving… oddly.

_Around_ her.

Her eyes widened in realization and she shoved her back against the tree and stared straight ahead. The images blurred.

Water-flow technique… it was… Aoshi-sama's!

"Have you decided?"

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was an eerie sound that made bumps rise along her limbs and a tremble slide down her spine. She was suddenly very afraid.

"Are you ready to accept me yet?"

She opened her mouth to speak when she noticed something else. The moving shadows disappeared. There was a faint, gentle flutter against her cheek and she jumped in fright only to see it was a butterfly.

Faint… glowing… it had iridescent wings that reflected back a rainbow of color at her beneath the moonlight. It didn't look quite the same by day, she noted, and then with one hand she lashed out, swatting at it!

No!

**No!**

It wasn't… was that butterfly really there? Was she imagining this, too? How was she supposed to know what was real anymore?

"Let me…" he murmured thickly.

The voice was suddenly close, next to her ear. A pair of large cold hands suddenly descended upon her shoulders like heavy bricks. She tried to turn, to twist to face her captor but she was held steady forcing herself to strain her neck to see, but she couldn't see far enough.

Only the hands…

"Aoshi-sama," she pleaded futilely.

She felt a breath against her skin and she sighed and her body trembled. There was a gentle flick against her neck, his tongue was it, and she trembled harder…

Was he going to hurt her?

He nipped with his teeth against her skin. "Tell me…" his voice was low and hypnotic. It was Aoshi-sama's voice… Wasn't it? He was… "Tell me. Say it."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I… say what?"

"Say you're mine," he whispered.

"I'm yours," she breathed, her voice low, almost hoarse. She felt fragile, her heart pounding. He felt huge and menacing, encompassing around her. "Just…" Tears pricked her eyes. "Take it away; I want to go to Aoshi-sama."

Her eyes were hot with tears. They poured over her eyelids, streaking down her cheeks, her throat hurt, her chest felt tight with pain. She missed him so much… and then she felt his teeth, sharp, pointy.

Her mouth fell open as they pierced her skin. Nothing neat, it was savage. She felt the skin tear, the blood, the capillaries break open… her crying intensified. She felt his tongue lave against her open flesh and it intensified her pain, she gasped, her voice became a jumble of incoherency.

Her heart pounded in her ears, pumping her blood into his mouth, down her chest into her clothes. She was going to bleed to death.

Hysterical tears overwhelmed her, she could hardly breathe anymore. Aoshi-sama… maybe she whimpered it aloud… She felt weak, her vision got even darker. Maybe she fell.

* * *

_Confusion_. 

Her mind, the girl, it was awash in confusion and pain and horror.

Horror and disgust directed at herself, her body, her life…

Pain and heartache for someone gone, someone… he knew…

She fell in his arms wounded and weak. Death was a whisper away, its shadow hovering over her menacingly.

Would he kill her? He wouldn't stop haunting her until she capitulated, he had tried, _tried_, to say away from her and he had failed. He couldn't leave her be, but he was so close to driving the girl insane, already she was confused, so confused… and now she was going to be dead. He had watched her body wither away before him. Her frame reduced to thin muscles stretched over weak bone. Breakable with the slightest of pressures… her body withered and wilted… her life slowly seeping away…

Dare he give her what she truly wanted?

Dare he reunite her with her _beloved_ Aoshi-sama?

Dare he condemn her to an eternity of hell or a ghoulish death?

Dare he?

She didn't know what she wanted. She was in pain, a weak animal whimpering for the end, all because she had lost one person? Humans died… they lived, they died.

She was out now, her consciousness shut down. He was the only thing keeping her from melting into a puddle upon the ground. She would die where she landed, a heap of flesh that would slowly return to the earth. She would be grieved for, the others would die eventually, and then she would be forgotten.

Dust.

Bleeding as she was, she wouldn't last very long, the wound was deep and ugly. He'd never seen her so pale before, so desperate, her eyes so sunken with grief, with lifelessness…

He told himself, she was already dead, as if to justify his actions.

He was not to be forgiven.

Murderer… he was a murderer and he went on murdering, causing insanity, stealing innocent lives… dare he corrupt her?

Would she forgive it? Or would she be overwhelmed with joy being reunited with the person she was so convinced she couldn't live without?

Pulling the girl up into his arms he floated up to her window, conveniently left open, and slid inside. The girl's futon was a crumpled heap upon the floor, her blankets strewn about carelessly. He gently laid her upon it, his eyes tracing the gaping wound still leaking blood.

He pulled gently at the collar of her garment, his eyes tracing over the blood stain. The blood now dripped backward onto her linens and not down her chest. He slid the material open completely, exposing her pale flesh to the night. She was bare beneath, her body milky in the moonlight.

He could smell it, the blood on her. Even the softer, more delicate scent that belonged to her… it made him salivate. Her skin tasted good. He longed to flick his tongue everywhere, to feel the exhilarating snap of his teeth sliding through her flesh, the welling of blood against his mouth.

That's what he was, a predator, no longer a man, a beast… consumed with sensation, with blood…with... with... _other _things too... Yes, _other _things...

He made his decision.

Fabric ruffled as he moved. He leaned over her a moment, fumbling with his hands before he stood up. He licked her cheek before he withdrew from the room, absently tossing a blanket over her nakedness.

She would die before the sun rose…

Maybe the others would discover her before evening…

He vanished into the shadows, but in the light of the moon a butterfly appeared, resting on the sill of the window, its wings gently fluttering.

She would die before the sun rose but she wouldn't be alone. There would be someone yet to hear the last rattling breath, to see her chest rise that one last time. He would watch the heavy cape of death settle over her. She would pale and her flesh would chill like ice.

On pale lips, three drops of crimson shone.

She would be beautiful.

* * *

AN: Really, where does this insanity stop? If you're following this story: thank you. I appreciate your patience and your interest.  



	6. VI

Sanguine Falls

Part VI

* * *

The Aoiya was quiet.

Briefly.

"I can't believe we have to leave so soon! I'm not ready!" a female voice squeaked.

"Oh, Omasu, shut up! Let's hurry and quiet down! Misao was out late last night, we want to let her sleep today!"

Minutes later, the Aoiya was empty, the mysterious outing unexplained. Upstairs, he listened, curious but it didn't move him. He stayed still. The room was darkened, cloth pulled over the window blocking most of the sun.

Hours ago he'd watched her die, her last breath, her last stirring of life. She never woke from her slumber; she had remained blissfully asleep since she sank against him the previous night.

She now lay pale and cold upon her bed. Her hair lay on the floor, a tight braided cord sweeping back to the back of her head. Her capriciously tossed blanket did not cover her delicate collar bones. The hard bone ends pressed gently up against the flesh creating the smooth perfect lines under his fingers.

Such perfect, straight bones, her skin soft… far too thin, but beautiful…

On the bed linens beneath her cooling body dark stains were almost hidden in the shadows. They couldn't hide from him. He wanted to drink from her… to sink his teeth into her flesh, to feed from her…

She had, however, expired. Stale. That was the word he'd heard for bodies that had died and were cooling. They were stale.

The scent of blood filled his nostrils. She did not smell of rot, not yet, she was not bloated with decay… she was still beautiful in her cold pallor.

It was late in the morning, nearing noon. The sun was up and bright and sunlight, more than all else made him tired. He stayed close to her but he was tired, deeply fatigued…

_If _she woke it would be hours and hours away. Content in his assertion, he slept.

* * *

Her head ached, as did her shoulder. She reached up and covered the wound on her neck with her palm. She hissed in pain as it seemed to burn. Fluttering a moment, her eyes finally snapped open. The lids had felt heavy, almost stuck shut. Now, she stared out into darkness… familiar darkness. She recognized her room, the feel of it, the smell of it, it was hers… a monster always knew its own lair, she thought irritably.

Slowly, she moved. Her body felt heavy, extraordinarily so. Bringing her knees up she saw she was naked, as if some pervert had come in and had his way with her while she slept. But the bed was dry, there was nothing between her legs, nothing to indicate anyone had been there or touched her at all. With a groan, she stood and stumbled toward her bureau, yanking it open. She pulled out the first thing she came upon, a blue yukata and she tugged it on.

Without having one of Shiro or Kuro's yukata sashes to steal she leaned her head against the bureau and slowly, very slowly, tied an obi stiffly around her abdomen.

Why hadn't anyone woke her before now? Why'd they let her sleep ALL day long? Or... wait, was it the same day? She padded toward her door and then abruptly stopped when she felt a tingling along her spine, a curious something she'd never felt before… it was…

She half-turned and peered back. Someone… a man … her eyes widened… her clothes! Was this…?

Shock and anger enveloped her, followed quickly by shame. How could he, how could anyone…? Had he wanted to rape her and been appalled by her lack of figure, by her sheer… ugliness?

She turned completely and stomped forward, but no greater than two steps from the door she stopped. She knew that silhouette, that frame…

"Aoshi-sama…"

"I am not." His voice was smooth and silky and perfect. She knew that voice, it _was_ Aoshi-sama. She came closer and stared. Hair, eyes, face, jaw line… she reached and snatched his hand inspecting it as well as she could in the dim, dim light.

"Aoshi-sama…"

"I am not, " he repeated.

His hand, cold, slipped from her fingers and he stepped out her window and onto the roof. Not willing to let him escape, she quickly followed. It _was_ Aoshi-sama, she knew it! He could deny it, well, he couldn't deny it she'd prove it to him!

When she scrambled out, he was already on the ground and walking away.

Not Aoshi-sama?

Not?

Absurd, she thought.

Quickly, she hurried after him. On the loose gravel, her footing slipped and she slid. Pain split across her abdomen and she doubled over, clutching her arms against her stomach, her eyes wide. She gasped as if she couldn't force enough air into her lungs. Her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the ground, her face in the dirt. She breathed in a mouthful of dusty air. She felt it coat her throat and get sucked down inside her, powdering the inside of her lungs.

Her chest burned with pain.

"It…" she started but stopped as the pain intensified.

"You're too weak to be out. You need to feed."

"F-eed?" she could barely speak. She curled herself helplessly into a little ball and turned her head away from the ground to rest. Maybe if she could curl her body tight enough and stay very still, the pain would go away…

It didn't.

It flared, wildly, rapidly.

"Get up," he ordered.

His voice was cold and stony. If nature could speak it would sound like that just before a storm threatened…

"Get up, " he repeated. "Or die there."

Misao, wracked with pain, was now trembling violently. Her body shuddered while trying to remain the tight curl on the ground resulting in a uneven quiver. She quaked.

The man stared, his eyes bright, cold and hard. She didn't seem him fade into the night; she didn't see a butterfly flitting away leaving her alone.

* * *

"_Monster?_ _What is this talk of monsters?" _

"_Why do you bring this girl among us? This child?" _

"_She's cute in a lost, sick puppy kind of way… but those puppies always die." _

"_If she doesn't feed she'll die."_

"_Do you really think that weakling can kill? Absurd. Put her out of her misery now." _

"_The sun will kill her if the lack of food doesn't. She's just a baby." _

She imagined them, faces connected to the voices. Female faces, male faces, Japanese men and women and foreign ones. They looked odd, pale almost gray with the same strange eyes… her pain… her eyes fluttered. Was she asleep? Her eyelids flickered with movement and then abruptly flew open.

She felt disoriented.

Disconnected.

She was no longer out on the ground in front of the Aoiya; she was lying on a tatami floor, a futon pad beneath her body. The room smelled old, of moths and dust. It was softly lit with one candle; she could see it from the corner of her eye.

Before her was _him._

Her Aoshi-sama look-a-like, her love… the man who was confusing in his perfection. He sat at her bedside, his legs crossed, his face impassive. The room was clean, tidy, and empty.

He turned and grabbed something; she heard the slide of glass on wood.

She couldn't move her head to see. She felt like someone else was controlling her body. Watching she saw her hand reach out and take a tiny cup. His hand seemed massive against her own. She watched her hand bring the cup to her lips. She could only see the inside was red.

As it came to rest under her nose and she breathed in the scent, she gagged but her hand remained steady tipping the cup into her mouth. She knew before it touched her tongue it was blood, the smell gave it away.

She cringed, but she was forced to swallow. Her conscious was alert but forced backward by something she didn't understand. She couldn't even be afraid. Her entire body was paralyzed. She felt full as if she were being forced to cram her entire self into only a portion of the space that belonged to her on the inside.

Greedily, her traitorous tongue flicked out and licked the inside of the tiny cup as if to savor every drop of the tangy liquid. She wanted to be nauseous, instead, she felt sated as if a deep hunger had been satisfied.

The horrid, slashing pains had vanished.

The squashed feeling inside her eased and then faded entirely. She drew in a deep, ragged breath. Had she been holding it before? Had she forgotten to breathe?

She turned her head and narrowed her eyes. "You!"

"If you don't feed, you'll die. Don't play stupid," he chastised. "You know what you are, don't you? You heard them speak."

Speak?

Them?

Fear pricked along her skin.

"I'm a monster," she murmured, bringing her hands up to her face. She pressed her cool palms against her cheeks. "A weak monster, a baby… a baby monster… I just… I just wanted to be with Aoshi-sama, why can't I have that?"

Tears warmed her eyes.

It was the only part of her that felt warm.

They fell down her cheeks in perfect, clear droplets. He leaned forward and captured the droplets on his fingers creating wet smudges.

"Cherish this," he whispered. "It is the last time you will ever cry these beautiful crystal tears."

She stared at him confused, watching, torn between fascination and horror as he licked his finger. Then, before she could think to evade, he cupped her face in his hands and began licking her cheeks.

The pressure of his fingers made her feel weak, her head light. She closed her eyes to ease the floating sensation.

"Am I going to die?" she whispered.

"Not tonight," he answered.

His hands drew away and she fell back onto the mat. She fell hard, like a log striking the ground. "I want to. Take me to Aoshi-sama!"

The coppery taste of blood flared suddenly in her mouth and she shattered.

"TAKE ME TO AOSHI-SAMA!"

Her shriek rattled the hut and the blood stained cup on the table, cracked and split down the sides.

* * *

"Has anyone seen Misao yet?"

The others looked up, their smiles fading. The day off, away from the Aoiya had been a blessing to their strained lives. Misao had last been seen sleeping peacefully in her bed that morning. Okina, looking weary stood and prepared to mount the stairs to check. Shiro stopped him.

"I'll go. I haven't talked to Misao in a while; I'd like to see how she is."

The old man frowned but nodded and Shiro quickly skipped up the stairs. Misao's sickness had been a burden upon them all. It seemed to be sapping the life from all of them.

At her doorway, he stopped and dutifully knocked. Thinking she may be still resting, he softly called to her. "Misao, it's Shiro, I'm opening the door, okay?"

She didn't respond and he slid the door open and peered into darkness.

Silence.

He padded inside and kneeled down; patting the table for the candle and matches she kept at her table. Quickly, he lit the stick candle and glanced at her bed expecting to see her lying there softly sleeping.

The bed was empty.

His spine straightened. Had she gone out looking for them? No one had told her where they were going…

Grabbing the candle he kneeled beside her bed. A yukata was lying over her bed very oddly. It was flat, as if she'd peeled it open and simply slipped out of it while laying there and left it. His eyes drifted higher, examining the bed when it caught a brown stain near the head of the bed.

He reached and traced his fingers over it. It was stiff, crusty. Slowly, he brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed.

Was… it blood?

He turned to get the others standing and turning toward the doorway, the light sweeping over the table and catching on a flash of white. One crisp sheet of paper smeared with the same ugly shade of brown… the kanji clear, distinct…

"Goodbye."

Panic seized his heart and clenched hard. He scooped up the paper and ran.

"OKINA!"

* * *

AN: Terror! I'm upping the rating to "M". 


	7. VII

Sanguine Falls

Part VII

* * *

It was the same room. She could tell that before her eyes were fully open. It smelled of dust. Fearing pain, her muscles clenched, bracing for endurance, but there was nothing and her tension faded. Her muscles systematically released, easing. Her eyes flickered open to stare at the wood beams of the ceiling and she turned, with some difficulty onto her side. Her body felt heavy, clumsy. It was as if she had been transported into another version of her body that was simply too large, too heavy for her to effectively move around in.

She was still wearing her own clothes; no one had touched her. There was some comforting reassurance in that.

Pressing her palms flat to the floor she forced herself up onto unsteady feet. Her body felt weighty, underused as if she'd been abed for a long time. She staggered toward the shoji doors. There was light beyond them and she looked to see what it was, _where_ she was. She pressed her ear to the door and listened.

Silence.

It seemed as if nothing was on there, but there was warm yellow light shining on the paper panes on the opposite side of the doors. She slid her fingers into the slot and pulled; but the door caught, it clicked, and refused to budge.

It wouldn't open.

She tried again, and then the other door but neither would move. Raising her hand to the paper screen she pressed her nails against it but the surface was firm, hard.

It wasn't paper at all.

It was solid.

She struck her fist against it and winced at the pain. They were _solid _wood panes. She was stuck. Walking back to her table, she sat down, curling her legs beneath her appropriately. There was nothing in the room. She took a quick inventory: table, futon mat, her, and… a cup. She frowned and reached for it.

It was heavy.

Full.

She knew what would be in it… that horrible flashback, that had been real, hadn't it? The room was real; she was still sitting in it. No, maybe she was a monster but she was not drinking that.

It was gross.

It was **blood**.

It had come from the _inside_ of someone's _body_.

It was… _dirty_.

She pushed the cup away and laid her head down on the hard wood surface. What was she supposed to do? She was too weak to fight the doors, her throat was strangely raw. Oddly enough, she didn't feel compelled to scream for help. She knew, somewhere within, that no one would come and she wasn't a damsel in distress. Something about waiting to be rescued always seemed like such a horrible way to die. It meant one was helpless and she hated being helpless.

There was something wrong, though. It was a sort of tingling that she couldn't feel. A mental tingling, a warning, perhaps. Something was going to happen, something that was bad. She waited, dreaded, could she stop it? What was it? Had she gained some awesome psychic power?

When the first flash of pain weaved its way through her belly like an ugly parasitic worm slithering beneath her skin, she felt nauseous. When the second hit and spread as though that worm had divided into two worms she began to dry heave. She slid her arms off the table and hung her head low, toward the carpet. Saliva dripped from her mouth as she coughed and hacked and nothing came up. Powerful, muscular contractions grabbed her stomach and squeezed and it made it feel like her head was floating each time the awful pressure released.

"You're supposed to drink it."

She didn't turn at the sound of the voice. "No," she protested weakly. "Gross."

"You'll die without it." He paused. "Are you that weak?"

"… not... weak!" she had her hand over her mouth as she turned, slowly, clumsily, to face him. Her skin was pasty compared to his paleness. A gray compared to white…

Ugly.

She leaned down to press her forehead against the tatami. "Leave me alone," she moaned softly.

"I thought you wanted this," he started. She could hear his footsteps, soft as they were, moving toward the locked doors. "Didn't you scream for me?"

She lifted her head and turned to peer at him. His back was to her. It was straight, as she remembered him. His shoulders wide, his hips narrow, his legs long… but he'd denied it… he…

"You told me that you weren't my Aoshi-sama."

"I'm not. I'm not that human man you loved anymore. You aren't the human girl you were just two days ago."

She dropped her head. "I know. I know," she repeated weakly. "I'm a monster. An ugly monster…"

"Drink from the cup or leave my side."

She looked up, but he was gone.

Leave his side?

Leave Aoshi-sama?

**_Never_**.

* * *

"There's no sign of her. No one has seen anything."

They were all there.

Shiro.

Kuro.

Omasu.

Okon.

Okina.

They stood around the sitting old man in the middle, worried expressions upon their faces. "What can we really do? I mean, if we can't find her?" Omasu asked.

Okina dropped his head toward his chest. "I don't think we can do anything at all. I don't think she's coming back. The blood on her futon is most worrying, how did she become injured? We removed all sharp objects from her room, didn't we?"

"We did, Kuro and I," Shiro answered. "I didn't see anything up there when I first when up but the window is still open. There was no blood on the floor or on the roof, but I presume that's how she escaped."

The others agreed. She hadn't sneaked through the house to get outside. "Any reports of her from yesterday?"

"Yes, one. She apparently had a bizarre interaction with a merchant in town by a fruit stand. She said something about knocking them over, the merchant was confused as he said Misao was standing several feet away and seemed to be having a conversation with someone who wasn't there. Then she turned and jumped into the back of a moving straw cart and that was the last he saw of her."

"How does this happen?" Okina murmured. "How did she get so bad off? What happened to her?"

* * *

If she drank, the pain wouldn't come.

If she drank, the pain that was there would go away.

Drinking the horrid liquid freed her, it energized her, it… _infused_ her.

She turned and looked toward the doors. Climbing to her feet she felt that the heavy, clumsy feeling of her body had faded into a rather strange lightness of step. She felt, she thought, just the slightest bit tipsy. The cup, she noted, had been larger than the last…

Though she'd been trying to deny it to herself she couldn't forever. She knew the metallic, red color liquid in the glass was blood. She was drinking blood, from someone's body into her mouth. It made her shudder with disgust, but it eased her pain and the pain was encompassing. She'd never known a sensation like it and never wanted to know it again. Despite the little she knew, she was certain it was a horrible way to die.

Raising her hand to the door, she took a calming breath, and thought her lungs felt odd. Almost like blowing air into an origami cube… crackly. The warm firelight was still visible through the solid-paper looking panes. Expecting it to be locked still, she pulled gently and was surprised when the door, lightly weighted, slid open for her.

She pressed her forehead to the door and peeked around with one eye. There was a fire and a little table and… him. Raising her hand to the door, she abruptly shoved it open.

Aoshi-sama.

He turned his head just slightly and regarded her. Standing a moment in his gaze and in the intense silence, she felt herself sort of stumble in. She collapsed across from him, her knees, her body not feeling weak though she knew she appeared that way.

"Am I sick?" she asked lowering her hands to her palms. Her head was all mixed up. She was confused, lost. "Omasu said I was."

"No," he answered almost at once. "You are no longer ill."

There was no gasp of surprise. No argument. She remained where she sat, hunched, her head dipped low.

"Was I going crazy? Am I still? What did you do to me?" She irritably scratched at her temples. They didn't itch but they _bothered_ her.

"Your madness has passed. You need now only to reorient yourself to the world. I…" he paused. "I cursed you."

She looked up and their eyes met across the table. His eyes were deep like oceans and cold. She would freeze to death before she drowned.

"Cursed me?" It was a pitiful whimper of a sound. She wished she wasn't feeling so weak, like a child learning how to walk again after the ability had been lost. Clumsily.

"The curse of my existence. Of yours… When mortals lay eyes upon us they go insane. It is gentler to ease them of that pain."

"And kill them." She spoke with certain finality. When humans saw Aoshi-sama he killed them.

Except her… but… she was dead too now. He had said so.

A few moments of silence passed before she raised her head. "Is this another thing that isn't really happening or is it real this time?"

He watched her with cautious eyes, calculating. "Yes."

She suddenly felt like she was shaking. "How do I…"

No, she wasn't ready. She wasn't ready for anything. She needed to take ten giant steps backward and then inch forward again to "reorient" herself. She was drowning in confusion, in denial, in… in… everything!

She fisted her hands at her temples. "What if I can't?"

Without warning, she fell backwards. It didn't hurt as she hit the floor, her head making a dull **thunk** against the floor.

She stared at the ceiling for a long moment before her eyes closed. "What if I just… die?"

He didn't answer her. She felt faint and her vision darkened. She was going to pass out…and then nothing.

He watched as she inexplicably blacked out. She was unduly stressing herself over an irreparable situation. She wouldn't die.

He wouldn't let her.

* * *

The evening of the third night when she awoke, she was not in the little room with the futon. There was no table beside her. No cup of blood sat nearby waiting to rescue her from the pain when it became too unbearable.

No.

She was standing.

Her body was, or had been, propped inelegantly against the huge round bulk of a tree trunk. She was surprised she could stand while sleeping. Her tired eyes flickered wide and she glanced around her, confused and tense.

It was a forest.

Dark and wide and… frightening.

She felt small and lost and she could tell before the first signs of unease began to plague her that it wouldn't be long until the pain came. She didn't have much time to get her blood.

Pushing away from the tree she was acutely aware of the bark beneath her palm. Hard and roughly textured, it bit against her soft skin. She didn't stumble forward, she didn't call out; she waited.

There was a distinct uneasy feeling inside her and suddenly she remembered what it was and it made a well of panic inside her burst open. Instead of a rapid thumping in her chest, there was nothing. Not even a dull echo, just an overwhelming hollow sensation. Pressing one hand to her chest she felt for the heart beat she was used to feeling there but felt nothing. There was no steady thumping under her hand, her chest didn't even rise and fall unless she remembered to force the effort.

She wanted her breath to catch in surprise.

She wanted her heart to jump to life and pump wildly in her fear.

Neither happened.

Her head snapped up as something around her shifted. Something in her was different, far more different than the blood, the heart, the breathing… There was a strange buzzing sensation in her head.

What was it?

More importantly… Where was Aoshi-sama?

* * *

AN: And there we have Aoshi returned to the story, good as new. 


	8. VIII

**Sanguine Falls**

**Part VIII**

* * *

She stood shakily as if she'd never done it before. Her legs trembled like that of a new born calf; her bright eyes were wide with fright.

With _awareness_.

Her days as a human had been semi-productive. It pleased him to see that, even afraid, her feet remained planted firmly upon the ground. She didn't tear off screaming into the woods, she remained still and steady. The little hunter was listening.

Or was she feeling out the area?

Had she picked up that little skill yet? Could she feel him? The little humming vibration inside her that warned him he was near? Their breed was full of monsters. They fed on humans, animals, and each other; nothing was safe. One had to be awake and alert or they were dead. Did she sense it?

What was that acute look of panic on her face?

He couldn't coddle her forever, not if he wanted to keep her. Not if he wanted to undo even a portion of the madness he'd inflicted upon her. Could she survive her new world sane? Would she live as he did? Would she bear anything for him or did her precious morals, her psyche come first? Did he want to find out? Should he brave eternity alone by thrusting her forward and out of his arms and onto her own feet or should he hold her back, protect her within the circle of his arms and guard her precious mind? He was torn.

He had, without entirely meaning to, drawn her to the crossing that evening. She responded so readily to his light indistinctive cues. He had haunted her daydreams and her nights; he knew he did, his former self… but him all the same, his body, his face, his hands, his mouth… all upon her. She hungered for him wholly and he found himself returning the single-minded devotion.

It hadn't always been that way, but since they had met at the crossways he'd been drawn… no, it was before that. He couldn't pin point it but the feeling was strong and it hadn't released him yet. It was, however, no answer to his current problem and he was still undecided about her.

She stepped forward and her unsteady feet stabilized. She could stand but could she hunt? Dare he test her?

He shifted forward and knew his decision was made. She would have to hunt tonight, him or something else and he would reward her if she succeeded. He might reward her if she didn't. As long as she didn't fail him… He wasn't sure he could bear to part with her so soon if she splintered and fell apart before him.

On newly steady feet she centered her weight over her hips and then, without warning, took off into a dash. Aoshi watched her disappear into the woodland with something of a grin on his stoic lips. It felt as though a fire had awakened in the pit of his belly and renewed his life force. He felt infused.

Without thought to time or consequence, he immediately took off after her.

No one saw the sparkles of an iridescent butterfly twinkle in the moonlight.

* * *

There was a hum. It was akin to a vibration and yet different. It was the kind of thing that instead of pleasant was alarming. The hair on the back of her neck and her arms was standing straight up. It was … scary.

She ran.

Not away, not toward, but the movement, the impact of her bare feet against the ground gave her something to focus on. It enabled her to think. When she was still panic bubbled in a dark corner and threatened to over boil.

Where was Aoshi-sama? Was he near? What was the prickly feeling that she couldn't even pinpoint inside herself? Had he abandoned her? Was she too much a monster even for him?

Too… ugly?

"Ugh!"

Her footing slipped but she didn't fall, she skidded. Her tender skin burned as she impacted a tree, rubbing off layers with sheer friction. She hissed in pain.

She tore her eyes away from the minor injury. Food. She needed to eat something before the horrible pains came. What… what… people or… how did … she cast her eyes around for something, as if a clue would appear.

Her eyes just barely caught sight of the butterfly and her entire world slid to an eerie stop. The night sounds around her faded in a wash of stony silence. She watched the butterfly dance. It was coming toward her. The prickly feeling got stronger as it neared and some part of her filed that information away but she couldn't focus. The monster in her wanted food. The butterfly was oblivious of that silent demand as it flickered ever closer. When it fluttered past… Misao began to follow it. This butterfly had led her to the crossroads… staring at it, Misao pondered whether she should kill it or thank it for taking her to Aoshi-sama…

In a sudden rush, sound returned to her ears and she found herself standing on the outskirts of town. The streets were mostly empty. She recognized it. It was far away from the Aoiya, far. Okina had warned her repeatedly about wandering through this section of town. Too many alleys, too many drunks, too many men… even now the warning threaded caution through her veins. She slipped into the shadows and slinked along like a mouse.

F-Food… they were old and broken and… and… people. Drunken people. Could she… eat them? She imagined trying to sink her teeth in and tasting sweat and dirt.

Her stomach rolled and her feet stopped abruptly. She pitched forward, clutching her abdomen as the first ghostly pains began to slither through her.

Feed or suffer.

Live or die.

Aoshi-sama or nothing.

If she didn't pick someone, would her body pick someone? Would her mind abandon her? Would she go crazy and murder? Was she already that kind of monster? Maybe she should die… to spare the world her presence? Was she a parasite? A monster living on the fringe of society, something that hid away because it was too ugly to live in sunlight?

Her stomach pitched and pain shot through her like a knife rending flesh. Air caught in her throat and she made a ghastly, gurgling sound.

"Aoshi-sama…" she whimpered.

"Eh… Who's there?" A man. She saw him ahead of her. Well, she could see him well for such dim lighting. No… no lighting. The nearest gas lamp as a block down… he stumbled closer. She could smell the alcohol, the dirt, the sweat. There were things on him she couldn't identify… it made her sensitive stomach pitch again and she groaned. In her distraction, he approached too close and suddenly a big hand was grasping her shoulder.

"Soft… you're a fucking girl, aren't you?… oh… oh… yeah…" Those hands were suddenly all over her, grasping her, kneading her in places she didn't want touched by some drunken stranger.

Pain and revulsion mingled. Her eyes squeezed shut. Why wasn't she fighting? She shifted and the man's hands tightened on her arms and then drifted toward her center, grabbing her clothes. She felt the material rip and the breath of night against her skin and those dirty hands were on her.

Food… pain… she brought her hands up, toward him, but the man was distracted trying to tear her obi. He leaned so obligingly forward. She forced her arms around his neck.

The pain intensified.

Without warning, she threw herself into his arms and toward his neck. She found his flesh without difficulty, yanking at the musty cloth at his shoulder. Her teeth, inexperienced, bore down and broke his skin messily.

He howled.

His blood surface but mere trickles. She had done it wrong. With a scream, he tore her off of him and she fell into the street.

"BITCH!"

He fell on her and they struggled all knees and elbows. Her kimono tore. Something wet was soaking into her cloth from the street but there was an apathy to her surroundings that increased the longer she stayed.

She didn't notice the shadowy figure behind them as she struggled. Couldn't have noticed if she tried. Abruptly, her attacker was pulled off her and she gasped, heaving for breath.

"Get up."

_Aoshi-sama!_

He hadn't abandoned her! Slowly, tense with pain, she dragged herself from the ground and onto her feet. The struggling man was held in Aoshi's arms strongly, able to do little more than kick his feet.

"This man is your prey tonight."

Misao took tiny steps forward.

"Pull his collar aside and look at his flesh."

With shaky hands, MIsao obeyed pulling at the stained cloth. The man who had been enraged was now silent, struggling but silent. Had fear overcome him?

"Listen. His body will tell you."

She stepped closer so her body was almost pressed against the man's chest. Her kimono was open at the front, her obi messily untied but still clinging… she was a wreck, but she pressed ever closer. She could hear a pulse. The pain had faded strangely as she got close enough to his skin to breathe in his scent.

Man.

Underneath the ick, he smelled like a man and he smelled _good._

She flicked her tongue against his skin at the point she could hear it strongest. He trembled and Aoshi-sama tightened his grip but remained silent.

Leaning closer, she sank her teeth into the man's skin again, missing her other tear into his flesh. This time, the blood welled into her mouth, over her tongue. A euphoria she'd never experienced overcame her, she shook, her mouth loosed, her teeth…? Something… there was a wash of pleasure and she fell.

Always falling…

* * *

She hadn't fainted. His arms were around her, Aoshi-sama and he was carrying her. Although she told herself she should feel good and bad about what she had done, her memory was hazy.

Man.

Alley.

Groping.

Aoshi-sama.

Feeding.

Her clothes were all torn. She could feel the dirt on her skin. She needed to bathe.

"Don't take me back there to that room."

He turned his icy eyes away from the path and down toward her but said nothing.

"I need to wash or…augh, I stink. I need a bath so bad I disgust myself."

He didn't address it. In fact, he ignored it and continued to carry her. "You fed messily. Tomorrow, you will do better."

Tomorrow?

"I have to do it everyday?" she shrieked. "That's so gross! That man would've-" she trailed off as the realization set in. That man in the alley wanted to rape her… hadn't… hadn't that occurred to her? She'd been so… her mouth was suddenly very dry. She swallowed hard. He had only wanted her because he couldn't see her. She had been nothing more than a warm, female body to use… but…

Rushing water distracted her and she found herself set upon her feet at a riverside. Before she could stumble into the water, Aoshi-sama's big hands were on her, pulling the remnants of her clothing away. Relieved, undisturbed by her nakedness in the dark, Misao plunged into icy water and promptly sank.

Aoshi watched her frit around in the water, rubbing at her skin as if she were possessed. She had been careless in the alley. The man could do no true damage to Misao, but she didn't realize that. Her mind was still not functioning correctly. She had not recovered from her transition. While the death mark he'd given her on the neck had healed, the wounds inside were deeper.

Still… she had fed, even if she had done so sloppily. She had made a choice… Could she keep it? Should he have taken her to town and given her a nice, easy victim instead of letting her fall into one so carelessly?

He had watched the human paw and grasp at Misao with an ugly distaste. It would have given him great pleasure to kill the man for the offense, but Misao had been caught in her first blood haze, her first euphoria. The sudden rush of pleasure had overcome her… she hadn't even taken enough blood to kill the man.

"It's COLD!"

With her arms pulled tight over her chest, Misao retreated from the water shivering. Her footsteps were small, hesitant. She was too hyper aware of her nakedness now that she was not worried about being clean. When she neared, he scooped her up and began walking again.

He'd seen her naked already. He knew her body almost as well as it could be known. Flicking his gaze down toward her he found her eyes closed and a tense expression on her face.

Almost as well… he would know it completely soon enough. When she had healed… when her mind was clearer… then… he pushed the errant thoughts away. He would not lust over her now, now while she was in his arms, bone and skin.

Retreating to the small shack deep in the poorest part of Kyoto, Aoshi placed the distinctly uneasy Misao in his bed. She immediately curled up in his blankets and he carefully locked his door before returning.

This night.

Tonight he would return to his own bed. He crawled into the futon next to her, surprising her as she struggled to keep her skin hidden. Reaching out, he pulled her up against his body, cradling her against his chest.

So light… so damaged.

Soon, when she had healed they would be able to wander, to roam the night, he could teach her so much… but for now, she needed to feed and sleep.

* * *

AN: There's so much yet to explore. I had no idea this story would be so long. 


End file.
